Chapter 8 Blood and Allegiance

Valeria felt silence cut her skin like a blade.

It was an oppressive kind of silence, the way all those whites stared at Rafael, waiting.

Salazar reclined in his chair, a smug grin slowly spreading, pleased with how he'd reacted. It swirled in his whiskey, a sharp gaze flickering between Rafael and Valeria like he was watching for the explosion that had to come sooner or later.

Valeria's pulse pounded.

She was certain Salazar had just stepped on a land mine.

The only question was- how violent would the explosion be?

Rafael breathed out, his fingers running along the rim of his glass, a stillness to him that felt dangerous. Too calm.

That was what made Rafael DeLuca the most dangerous - he never reacted how people expected.

No fury, no threats, he just tilted his head and smiled.

A slow, sharp, deadly smile.

"Salazar," Rafael said, his voice like silk. "You are very, very vocal for a man who's still alive because of my generosity."

The smirk on Salazar's lips faltered for a moment.

The air in the room changed.

Valeria could feel it - the unspoken, the power struggle taking place beneath the surface.

This wasn't just about her.

This was about control.

And Rafael was demonstrating he still had all of it.

Salazar laughed, putting his hands up in faux surrender. "No offense, DeLuca. Just an observation."

Rafael's smirk didn't waver. "Men die from observations."

The entire table was silent. Waiting.

Salazar finally broke away, raising his glass in surrender. "No harm meant, amigo."

Rafael nodded one time, but Valeria could read it in his eyes - this wasn't over.

Rafael DeLuca was never done.

A Dangerous Dance

The tension dissipated a bit, conversation picking back up around them, but Valeria's body stayed tense.

She wasn't stupid.

This wasn't a normal dinner.

This was a game.

And she was the piece that everyone was watching.

Rafael had not seated her at this table by accident - it was to send a message.

She just didn't know to who.

Or why.

Challenging herself to unwind, she raised her glass, tasting her wine as she covertly scrutinized the men at the table.

The real players.

She needed to get a handle on them, to know who in this room wanted Rafael dead, who could be manipulated, who could be used.

For because if she was going to get away, she needed to be sharper.

Stronger.

More ruthless.

She put her glass down, leaning a little toward Rafael. "Interesting company you keep," she whispered.

He looked at her, mischief dancing in his green eyes. "They serve their purpose."

"And what's mine?" she asked softly.

Rafael moved close enough for his lips to graze her ear. "You'll find out soon enough."

Her stomach twisted.

She loathed that he always appeared a step ahead.

But that was not going to last forever.

Not if she could help it.

The First Warning

The rest of the dinner was a blur of conversation, business deals and subtle power plays that Valeria hadn't quite grasped yet.

But there was one thing that was clear-*this world was a warzone.

And Rafael was the king who ruled it.

At meal's end, he stood and held out his hand to her.

She hesitated.

She wanted to deny him, to defy him, every part of her.

But she wasn't stupid.

So she took it.

His hand closed over hers, hard, possessive, as he guided her away from the dining hall.

As soon as the doors closed behind them, Valeria let her breath out. "What the hell was that?"

Rafael didn't stop walking. "Politics."

She yanked her hand free. "You used me."

He finally turned to look at her, his expression unreadable. "I protected you."

Valeria laughed bitterly. "By exhibiting me before your enemies like a trophy?

Rafael loomed over me, crowding my space. "No, Valeria. By demonstrating that you're untouchable."

Her rib cage was pounding with her heart.

Untouchable?

She wasn't sure whether this was a warning or a *threat. *

She swallowed hard. "And if I care to not be protected by you?"

Rafael's gaze darkened. "Then you better be strong enough to be without me.

A chill ran down her spine.

Because she wasn't, she wasn't sure she was.

Not yet.

The Price of Defiance

Valeria did not sleep that night.

Her mind buzzed with remorse for every word she had said, every look she had thrown at dinner.

Its preventers made her aware.

A weakness.

A way out.

And then, in some perverse act of prayer fulfillment, it came.

A soft knock on her door.

She sat up, heart hammering. "Come in."

The door opened a crack and a shadow slipped inside.

Matteo.

His face unreadable, he walked closer. "You left an impression tonight."

She scoffed. "It's not like I was really given a choice."

Matteo paused and fished a folded note out of his pocket.

Valeria's breath caught. "What is that?"

He handed it to her.

She opened the sheet, her eyes glancing over the brief but harrowing message.

You don't belong here. If you want to survive, meet me at the greenhouse at midnight. Come alone.

Her stomach flipped.

She looked up at Matteo. "Who gave this to you?"

His jaw tightened. "I don't know. It was left in your room."

Her pulse pounded.

A trap? A warning? A lifeline?

She didn't know.

But she had to find out.

Matteo's eyes darkened. "If Rafael finds out-"

"He won't," she whispered.

Because for the first time since arriving, she had a choice.

And she was going to take it.

Midnight Reckoning

Valeria crept through the halls, trying to be as quiet as possible, her bare feet soundless against the frigid marble floors.

It was a vast estate, but earlier that day, she had learned the way to the greenhouse by heart.

Each step led closer to an uncertain destiny.

But fear wasn't an option.

Her breath quivered as she reached the greenhouse doors and pushed them open.

Moonlight flowed in through the glass ceiling, bathing her in light, as she stood surrounded by the lush plants.

And then she saw him.

A man leaned back in the shadows like he had all the time in the world.

Valeria's heart pounded. "Who are you?"

The man stepped closer, his features coming into sharper relief in the silver light.

And her blood ran cold.

She knew that face.

She'd seen it before - years ago.

In whispers. In warnings.

The man who had once been Rafael's best friend.

The man who had betrayed him.

He smirked. "You can call me Santiago."

Valeria's stomach twisted.

Because she knew the name.

Santiago Morales - the man who'd tried to kill Rafael.

And here he was, standing in front of her, giving her what she'd thought this life would never make possible.

A way out.